


By Any Other Name.

by Demmora



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Everything Hurts and I'm Dying, F/M, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So the new trailer has been out for a whole hour and already I'm wallowing in agonizing headcanons. These are all short little snippets taken from my long-fic which I hope to post some day. And because misery loves company I want you all to suffer with me at the mental image of Corvo laying roses at Jessamine's grave for the rest of his life. Because everything is Dishonored and I'm dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name.

Roses had always been her favorite.

He’d shown her how to weave them into crowns, her and the Copperspoon girl, sheering the thorns away for them with his pocketknife and showing them how best to twine the delicate stems round lengths of wicker pilfered from the gardener’s hut. It was an odd skill, for a soldier of twenty, but then he hadn’t always been such. His mother had made such trinkets on the streets of Karnaca, weaving wildflowers into corsages and dainty spring floral crowns for women with smooth hands and delicate complexions, and though they might not be able to afford jewels, for a moment they could be pretty, for a copper or two, they could be queens.

*

Roses had always been her favorite.

“Aren’t they pretty?” she’d asked, hands clasped neatly behind her back, a prim little bounce in her step as Corvo walked beside her.

“Very.” He’d replied without feeling, and Jessamine had tisked, drawing a smile to his lips. “They’re only trinkets, Jess.”

“You’re such a _boy,_ ” she’d huffed, and Corvo couldn’t help but laugh. “I wish Delilah was here. All right, what would you have me wear to the Summer Ball then, Mister I-Refuse-To-Get-A-Haircut?”

He’d turned plucking a pink rose from one of the climbing vines outside the jeweler’s door and tucking it neatly behind her ear. He could still remember the way her blush made his heart jump.

*

Roses had always been her favorite.

“Where did you get these?” she’d asked, eyes lighting up as he handed over the meager bouquet. It was a paltry gift, but she’d accepted it like the finest jewels of Serkonos.  

Road weary and with dust still on his boots, Corvo had collapsed into a vacant chair watching her move into her private chambers, emerging moments later with a plain white jug, arranging the flowers on her table. It was likely the jug from her washstand.

“It might still be winter in this forsaken city of yours, but it’s actually rather warm down south.” He’d replied, flexing his toes in his boots and trying hard not to fixate too much on the way her lips curved so perfectly as she smiled. “I thought…well I thought…”

“Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised when she’d pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, but for Corvo it had made the whole journey worth it.

*

Roses had always been her favorite.

They’d never danced before, but this was an official event, and Corvo was an official court member.

“What’s the matter,” she’d teased, “Frightened I’ll bite?”

“I’m more worried about my toes,” he’d replied, accepting the gentle blow to his arm and allowing her to lead him out on to the dance floor. It was the middle of winter, but still the sweet perfume of roses hung around her, like a little cloud of summer.

*

Roses had always been her favorite.

Her smile was the sun, her laughter the stars and her joy his entire world. He’d pilfered the rose from the garden on his way up to her apartments, and although she had a room full of flowers from her birthday, it was the single rose she cherished the most, clasping it to her breast like a secret, inhaling the scent and smiling up at him like he’d given her the moon.

*

Roses had always been her favorite.

“I love you…” stolen whispers from between soft lips, uttered like hushed prayers in the night, over and over like a heartbeat. _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…_

* 

_Roses…they were always my favorite…she looks so tall, I can see my father in her…she hides her sadness well…she has your eyes, see the way they crinkle when she smiles…such a sweet child, such sweet roses, they were always my favorite…do you remember…_

Corvo is only half listening to the court, attention torn between the steady beat of the heart in the back of his mind, and the way Emily is looking at him. No matter what the heart says, all Corvo can see is Jessamine…

He plucks a rose from one of the many assortments, walking beside his daughter as they turn toward the painting entombed in glass, frozen forever, a perfect image of regal beauty and a life cut short: the woman he loved looking back at him through the years, never aging, never fading, while grey streaked his beard and their daughter grew older and wiser by the day…

A sound just on the edge of hearing, a whisper in the void makes him turn…

“Roses. How sweet,” Delilah smiles, and Corvo feels the world begin to drop away, “They were always my favorite.”


End file.
